Orignially posted 11/26/2012
Why do we love whales? What is it that draws our attention? When we see whales we are entranced and cannot turn away. Some of us sit for hours and count them as they go by. I have done this many times. I found a pattern. They blow a few times. I see the pod, or a cow and calf, here, then there, then once again 200 yards to the south. They blow again. Then it is flukes, tails skyward, and they sound, swim down deep into the ocean home with their preposterous load of oxygen to swim under water for ¾ of a mile. If I am attentive, if the light is right, if the sea is not too choppy, if I am lucky, I will see them blow again. Far away.
I have heard that the spinal column to brain weight ratio of a whale is close to that of man. Do we somehow believe that they are like us? Admittedly they are not us. We have found no poetry written by whales, but there is their music. Hear it and it will haunt you for the rest of your life. Are they so different that they communicate in a watery way and we do so in air? But they are an alien race. Can we pretend to understand them?
If you have an opportunity to get close to whales do so. I have had this privilege. There is a beach in Baja where the whales come right to the shore. They hover there, or swim lazily back and forth. Something attracts them. There is fresh water sifting through the beach sand from a lagoon. Perhaps it attracts them. The beach is steep there as well. Some say that they scrape against the sand to remove barnacles. This is not their destination. They are going to the Sea of Cortez to birth their young or are on the way back to cold water in the far North towing a calf.
A friend of mine suggested that we swim with them. At 1st this seemed extreme. What if one hits us with a tail fluke. The flukes as well as their graceful bodies are covered with barnacles. They could do some damage. But this friend and her husband are all courage. So, they went in. If they would, so would I. Several others felt the same. We all waded in with fins and masks to see what we could see. The whales stayed away for a while. They were eerily missing, listening to us perhaps, feeling who we are. Then they began spy hopping from a distance to look at us. Spy hopping is when the whale goes vertical, treading water, their heads stick up out of the water and they cock an eye at the item of curiosity, which was us. We watched them back. Theirs are not the nervous dog eyes of the seal but knowing eyes. The need not be wary of us and they seem to know this.
Then someone started singing Stairway to Heaven, and though I was done with Led Zeppelin, I joined in. All 6 of us sang. We were a little nervous. But the whales woke up, started coming toward us. They are apparently not burned out on this song. No classic rock under the sea. I felt a sense of panic and calm at the same tame. A feeling similar to taking off a wave a little too big for me knowing that I would make the drop.
Someone shouted, “One going under us”. Against my best judgment I turned over and started swimming down toward the whale. The females are the biggest, so I will call her a She, and She was big, right below me by about 6’, long as a school bus but much slimmer. The shape of an organic underwater locomotive. A streamliner. I reached my hand out to touch Her but could not. She kicked here tale with broad movements and was gone. I felt as though I had tried to touch a star or that the passing whale had shown me an aura of the genetic code of all biology. An impression of our continuity.
These are Grey Whales. When I was a young surfer on the northern California coast they were consider on the road to extinction. Now, 40 years later, they are migrating from north to south and back every year in large numbers. And the world is better for it
The Mexican Hot Dog, or Hot Dogs in Latin America in general, are part of what I call United States Coca Cola Diplomacy. As soon as a nation begins to emerge guess who show up first to take part in that country’s flowering (spending). Coca Cola has historically been the forerunner emissary of El Norte. Right behind Coca Cola would be the U S Consulate, Ford Dealerships, and The Hot Dog. But unlike Coca Cola or Ford the Hot Dog is not a corporate product. It is a food of the people. It is morphed by the natives of its adopted home in the hotter climes and the world over into a new thing based on an older concept. The Hot Dog, like the concept of democracy, becomes localized wherever it is adopted.
The invention of the hot dog bun in the U S in the late 19th century changed the sausage into the Hot Dog. The bun, coupled with the ubiquitous tube steak, creates a condiment delivery system. The character of the adopting nation food culture is in the condiments and the presentation. From Japan to Uruguay and of course Mexico they are all different.
Walls all over the world are the blank canvases of culture. Building walls and vertical surfaces of train cars, trucks, overpasses, sound walls, are, in many ways, public spaces. Individual expression, urban art, commissioned murals, graffiti, political frustration, social movement, are on the walls for all to see. A common forum used often in unique ways.
Businesses use this available space for advertisement of their shops. Baja biz usually does not go to the sign shop and order a sign to hang on the building. They get a sign artist to come out and paint, in the largest format and in bold colors, the business sign on the business.
And the walls are used for political campaigns and protests of political campaigns. Driving through the back streets of Cabo you will see painted signs for a candidate for office that may be many years old. Or half painted over by the next round of candidates. The wall is the permanent running fence of Mexican politics and social consciousness. Everywhere you look.
And art. There are wonderful art pieces on the walls in La Paz and Cabo. Typical of Mexican art and architecture in general much strong color is used. And if you google street art of Mexico City you will be amazed. Public art. For all to see.
